


checkmate

by taareds, todareistodo



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, england nt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2020-12-13 18:40:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21002345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taareds/pseuds/taareds, https://archiveofourown.org/users/todareistodo/pseuds/todareistodo
Summary: He shakes Eric’s hand once, firmly, with a resolute nod of his head.“I’ll ask Ben out; you’ve gotta tell Dele you only wanna hear about his dick again if it involves you.”Eric and Trent play chess, make bets and chat shit.





	1. Chapter 1

“Your move.” Eric mutters. It’s the first thing they’ve said in close to 10 minutes. Ever since the rest of the team latched onto their chess games and decided to choose those times to invade their hotel room for team “bonding” (loud music and dares to pull down each other’s pants that Trent has enjoyed. When he was 14), they’ve taken to locking the door and keeping it strictly personal. Just Eric and Trent.

Trent chews on his lip as he contemplates his best case scenario. Eric is wriggling in his seat impatiently which is strange because Eric Dier isn’t the type to wriggle, or do anything in a chair other than sit in it nicely and neatly, really, but his fidgeting is extremely off putting and Trent can’t stop himself from the satisfaction of jamming his trainer right onto Eric’s toes in his sliders.

“Fucking hell, you bastard.” Eric groans, rubbing at his toes even as they both start laughing.

“You’re distracting me.” Trent shrugs, waiting for everything to settle into stillness before scrutinising the board again.

“Oh my god!” Trent cries out incredulously, because Eric starts fidgeting again, and surreptitiously checking his phone like he doesn’t think Trent will notice. Trent definitely does notice.

“Right, what’s the matter with you?” He sighs dejectedly, knowing their chess game will now have to be abandoned because there’s no way they’re in the right mindset now.

Eric shakes his head and laughs through his nose. “Nothing.”

Trent tuts, falling back in his chair and spreading his legs wider. It makes Eric laugh, again, eyes all crinkled. He mirrors Trent and they sit in silence for a minute, eyeballing each other, wondering who will be the first to crack.

“It’s Dele.” Trent states matter-of-factly, no question needed because he already knows.

Eric snorts. “No it isn’t.”

Eric is remarkably good at lying with his strangely similar vocal expression regardless of situation. His voice is just gruff and weirdly intoned and it means maybe he’d get away with it with someone else, but Trent pays attention to everything everyone says in this building, and he notices it all too. He could tell Gareth things that would make him squirm. The thought makes him smirk.

“I know it is, Dier.” Trent says breezily, ignoring the flash of mild irritation in Eric’s eyes.

“Alright, lover boy.” Eric teases. “What about Ben?”

It doesn’t catch him off guard, because very little does, and Trent answers enough questions about Ben all the time to never be surprised when he’s brought up, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a little bubble of mine that burns in his stomach at the mention of his name. He rolls his eyes and glares at Eric.

“I’ll take him for dinner when you stop dancing around Dele.” He challenges.

Eric lets out a short, sharp bark of laughter. “You and Ben are already married, I’ve seen your snapchat stories.”

Trent bristles at that, but another part of him preens. Sometimes he does wonder if maybe him and Ben are together, they’ve just bypassed the discussion stage of the relationship and are now trapped on some kind of bridge between best friend and boyfriend. They kiss sometimes, and sometimes when Trent can’t sleep he thinks about the little dusting of freckles across the slope of his nose he can only see when he’s that close, but they don’t talk about it, and they don’t reference it, and it just sits there. An ignored bombshell.

“He’s my best friend.” Trent says pointlessly, despising Eric’s smirk.

“I’m aware.” Eric laughs. “Will you really take him for dinner?” Eyebrows waggling. It’s a strange look on him.

Trent ignores him. “Has Dele shagged you? Is that why you’re wriggling like that?”

Trent can’t quite contain his laughter enough for it to fall as deadpan as he’d like but the look of sheer disbelief that clouds Eric’s face is worth the less than satisfactory delivery.

“You seriously think it’d be him?” Eric asks, facade of indifference falling and Trent is properly laughing at him now.

“Obviously not.” He sniggers. “But I got your attention.”

Eric mutters under his breath, definitely something unkind, and Trent just glows. He stares Eric down and watches as he crumbles, and he doesn’t care at all anymore about their abandoned game of chess that he was definitely on the verge of winning.

“He’s talking to this new girl.” Eric mumbles. “He won’t stop telling me all the details.”

And from the squirming and the bitten lips every time Eric checks his phone, Trent imagines it really is all the details. He winces, knowing how blunt Dele can be, knowing how blunt he will be being. Eric’s got it bad for a guy that it drains Trent just thinking about wanting.

“There’s always a new girl.” Trent reasons, shrugging. “Shoot your shot, Dier, you’re getting on a bit.”

“I’ll shoot my shot, if you do the same. Shake on it, mate.”

Trent eyes the hand he’s offering over the ignored chess pieces. Eric’s hand is massive and calloused and rough, but not as rough as the potential fallout asking his best friend to dinner could cause. Trent’s eyes narrow on it, brain sparking with his rationality electric-shocking his stubbornness. Ultimately, competitiveness wins out. He shakes Eric’s hand once, firmly, with a resolute nod of his head.

“I’ll ask Ben out; you’ve gotta tell Dele you only wanna hear about his dick again if it involves you.”

Eric kicks his shin under the table and they have a little below the waist kerfuffle that Eric ultimately wins but Trent doesn’t think that’s significant, because he’s the one with the nearly-boyfriend, and with the looming pressure of the deal Trent cannot, on pain of death, back down from, maybe he’ll actually get somewhere; he could have it a hell of a lot worse (Dier does put everything into perspective.)

“Oh, cheers, Trent.” Eric snorts. “Nice to know my love life is good for something.”

Trent grins, shrugging, and checkmates Eric with the move he’d been planning all conversation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You wanna be quick,” Trent says, moving his knight without looking up. Two spaces forward and to the left, landing next to one of Eric’s pawns. “He’ll be onto the next new girl soon.”

Trent’s fingers hovers over the knight for exactly thirty-seven seconds before Eric finally gets frustrated and lets out a long groan, leaning his head back far enough to smack against the wall behind his head. 

They’re in Eric’s room tonight, sat by the window because it’s the hottest day of the year, sticky and humid but it beats being in a basement games room with 23 hyperactive boys still buzzing from training. 

“Careful,” Trent admonishes, “Size of your head? You’ll break it.” 

“Can you just make a fucking decision?” Eric retorts, not even bothering to come up with an insult. 

It’s been twelve minutes since he moved his bishop, he’s been watching the clock over Trent’s head and he pretty sure he’s won the game so he’s getting antsy waiting for Trent’s next move. 

Trent doesn’t though, because he can never do as he’s told, instead he pulls his hand back all the way and leans back in his chair, legs spread. “You tell Dele yet?” 

Eric realises then that Trent has no idea what his next move is, because he knows Trent doesn’t give a single fuck if he’s told Dele out or not. Eric had attempted to get his advice on how to tell him during breakfast two days ago and Trent had looked him square in the eye and said “like a man instead of the little bitch you’re acting like right now” before walking away with half his porridge untouched. 

“Yes.” He says with a decisive nod and he wishes it sounded believable.

“Knew you’d wimp out.” Trent says with a satisfied grin, eyes back on the board. 

Eric kicks him under the table and doesn’t even feel bad for the way Trent winces. “I haven’t wimped out! We didn’t set a time limit. Anyway, you ask Ben out?”

“Yeah!” Trent huffs loudly, crossing his arms as his teeth work at his bottom lip, eyes moving rapidly across the board. “Took him to dinner didn’t I? Proper romantic it was, actually.”

“So what, you’re boyfriends now?” Eric asks, and he actually does care. It’s sweet, Ben and Trent. Trent would never ever outright say it but he’s head over heels for the lad. Eric reckons he might love him if he ever dared admit it out loud. 

Trent uncrosses his arms and leans forward again, eyes flicking up once, just long enough to meet Eric’s. “When you gonna tell him?” 

Eric’s not sure if Trent’s antsy about the game or Ben anymore, but the rare (extremely rare) times he makes Trent squirm for once are his favourite. Trent has this ability to give you a spare, withering glance that makes you doubt every decision you’ve ever made since you decided to start walking on your own two feet. 

“Is he your boyfriend?” He counters. 

“You wanna be quick,” Trent says, moving his knight without looking up. Two spaces forward and to the left, landing next to one of Eric’s pawns. “He’ll be onto the next new girl soon.”

Eric feels a flash of anger on Dele’s behalf and he kicks Trent even harder this time and returns the glare he receives for that without faltering. Trent reaches down to rub at his shin as he groans dramatically, whining under his breath.

“Don’t be a prick.” Eric warns with an easy shrug, moving his own knight and taking one of Trent’s pawns. 

“Don’t be a pussy.”

“I’m not.”

“So tell him how you feel.” 

“I said I will and I will. What happened with Ben? You two steady?” 

Trent lifts his head with an absolutely scandalised look on his face, “Steady?” he repeats, blowing out a surprised noise from the corner of his mouth. “Fuckin’ hell, Dier. How old are you?”

Eric resists the urge to kick him again, “Stop evading the question.” 

Trent groans, as if Eric’s asking him to pull his teeth out one by one and puts his elbow on the table with a dramatic sigh. “He didn’t know it was a date,” he mumbles under his breath, dropping his chin onto his open palm, puppy eyes begging Eric not to make fun of him.

“What?” 

Eric’s grinning and he heard him, but this is just too satisfying. 

“He didn’t know it was a date okay?” Trent says louder, much louder than they were speaking before. “He thought it was just dinner. Cause we do that a lot. You happy?”

“Very.” Trent kicks him this time. 

They make a few more moves in silence and Eric can tell Trent’s annoyed and embarrassed because he won’t look at him, when normally he stares at him to try and intimidate him. He feels a little bad the longer it goes on.

“Think you’ll have to ask him out directly. Say it’s a date.” He says as casually as possible. In terms of football, Trent’s willing to listen but in real life he hates being treated like a child, will do the exact opposite if you tell him what to do. 

Trent snorts in annoyance, “You think? Thanks Sherlock.” 

Eric ignores the snarky tone, chuckling under his breath. “Bring him flowers. He’ll know. And I’ll talk to Dele.” 

Trent lifts his head then, meets Eric’s eye with a determined look. “By the end of the week?” He says, and it’s a challenge to himself and Eric and it’s Thursday so Eric’s not quite sure how he’s going to make that happen but he’s absolutely not backing down, not against _Trent_ of all people. He couldn’t imagine something worse than backing down against _Trent._

“Deal.”

They don’t shake on it this time, but Trent nods and Eric moves his queen and says ‘Check’ and it takes Trent three seconds to realise he’s lost the game. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Fancy a game?_

_contrary to popular opinion i don’t actually like chess that much_, Trent texts back, chewing the inside of his cheek, one eye on his phone and the other on the telly.

_I guess you failed the bet then…._

Eric is laughing - cackling - when he accepts the request, audio all crackly through his headphones. Trent isn’t even looking at the little digital chess pieces.

“I knew that’d work.” Eric says smugly.

Trent is so thankful he’s not forced to see his smirk. He counts to 5 in his head until the incessant need to snap recedes.

“Well done you.” He mutters sarcastically. “How’s your boyfriend?”

He knows Eric will be shrugging. He idly considers making a move whilst he waits for the response but someone’s third layer of sponge cake has just fallen to the floor on the Bake Off rerun and it steals all his attention.

“Not my boyfriend.” Eric tells him regretfully. It’s Trent’s turn to smirk, small and cruel. He manages to keep the snigger behind sealed lips.

“Gonna elaborate?”

He huffs. “It’s been 6 days since I saw you. Nothing changes that quickly.”

Trent laughs openly. “Oh, where’s the romanticism.”

“Never existed.” Eric retorts shortly. “I told him I’m -“

There’s a pause and Trent feels briefly sympathetic. Labels are nothing but words, unnecessary pressure, but he understands the weight of them all the same. The hesitation and sense of panic attached to voicing it out loud. It’s both the least and most important thing in their world.

“Well done.” He says softly, pleased.

“Thanks.” Eric’s voice is gruff and he brushes it off near immediately. “He kind of just laughed nervously and rambled about the girl. A lot. He had a lot to say.”

Trent sighs.

“Yeah. He did kiss my cheek when we hugged goodbye.”

Trent giggles and coos. “How sweet!”

Eric tells him to fuck off whilst Trent carries on giggling. They sit in comfortable silence, staring at their untouched phone screens and the little cartoon chessboard.

“He’s just scared, mate. Can’t get his head round it, y’know?”

“Yeah. I know.”

The quiet is soft. Trent finds it odd that they come to each other for these things; he wonders why Eric trusts him with these issues, even if under a layer of playfulness and wagers and oneupmanship. He appreciates it all the same. The silence drags until Trent feels like the moment has overstayed its welcome.

He shatters the quiet smugly. “Well, unlike your pathetic attempts, I _did_ get a date.”

Eric wolf-whistles. It’s loud over the earphones and Trent winces, snapping at him and massaging his ears carefully until his hearing returns.

“Burst my bloody eardrums.” He mumbles grumpily. “Hope you’re on the bench when you come to Anfield for your sake.”

Eric snorts. “It’s sweet you think you’re threatening.”

“Do you wanna hear about my date or not.”

The silence is his invitation to continue so he launches into it, slightly overeager with the giddy desire to share it with someone he doesn’t have to keep secrets from, in this one little area.

“Took him someplace dead expensive.” He boasts, unable to help himself, grinning when Eric lets out a single amused bark of laughter. “Wined and dined.”

He’d worn smart trousers, the ones he wears when taking someone on a date, the ones Ben always tells him to wear when he’s helping him pick his outfit for the dinner he’s taking a girl to, hoping when Ben saw them he’d clock it. He’d tilted his head, smiling slightly.

“They’re your date trousers.” He'd said.

“Yeah, well.” Trent had replied, nowhere near as confident as he’d planned, backtracking on the suave statement he’d been practicing in the shower that had promptly disappeared from his brain. “Only the best for you.”

That had left him chewing his tongue throughout their menu-perusing, enough that his starter had tasted of blood. When Ben asked how it tasted, he’d stared at him blankly for a few seconds, trying to think of a single adjective that wasn’t metallic.

“He was in absolute awe from the get go.” Trent summarises neatly.

“Mm. I’m sure.” Eric says.

Trent had tried desperately to pay for the bill, wriggling his fingers in his pocket trying to pull his wallet out, glaring at Ben whenever he voiced his confusion and insistence that they split it. Ben was smiling faintly, eyes glancing between Trent and his own feet as they walked to their cars, like he was trying to hide a grin from him.

“Did you wear your date trousers on purpose?” Ben had asked, bemused.

“Yes.” Trent replied, defiant, left ring finger twitching nervously.

“Like, swept him off his feet, Eric, really, I’ll give you tips seeing as you need ‘em and I smashed my side of the bargain out of the park.”

Eric scoffs, off on another bout of disbelieving cackling. Trent turns his volume down, taking one earphone out, staring at his phone in disgust at the volume of Eric’s laughter.

“Right.” He says finally. “When’s your next date then?”

Trent beams. “Hang on.”

He leaves the app, wandering through the house in the dark, forgetting to flick on light switches as he goes. He stubs his toe on the corner of the bedroom door, cursing colourfully.

“Hey.” A voice says softly under a mountain of duvets and pillows.

He smiles, sliding under the covers and wriggling into the empty space.Champions League highlights are playing on the telly, volume low. The sheets are cool on his skin but the body next to him is warm.

“Hi.” He murmurs, opening Snapchat.

Ben looks up with mild interest at the phone showing the two of them, Trent’s lips barely pressed to the top of his head, hair still damp from his shower, his chin tucked towards his chest and a few of Trent’s fingertips visible on the peak of his collarbone. Ben smiles at their reflection, kissing the fingertips and Trent captures the exact moment he does.

Eric’s reply comes within seconds. _Fucking bastard_. Trent grins into Ben’s hair, reaching both hands across to type out his reply. Ben swats at him halfheartedly for blocking his view.

_Your move_, he sends.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric's skin is burning. Every nerve of his feels like it's on fire, twitching under his skin and making his heart feel like it's drumming along to a heavy metal song.
> 
> "You're over-reacting." Trent says, slumped on the bed next to him, calmly, uninterested.

Eric's skin is burning. Every nerve of his feels like it's on fire, twitching under his skin and making his heart feel like it's drumming along to a heavy metal song.

"You're over-reacting." Trent says, slumped on the bed next to him, calmly, uninterested. He might even be checking his nails but Eric can't move his eyes to properly check.

"I'm dying," Eric manages to breathe out, raspy and barely above a whisper.

Trent glances at him as though he's bored of the conversation, even though he arrived after three panicked texts from Eric exactly seven minutes ago. "You're having a panic attack."

"No, I think I'm dying."

It can't be a panic attack, he's never felt so weak and been so keenly aware of every pulse of his heart at the same time. He feels like he's drowning somehow, like he's being swallowed by something that he can't grasp, that he can't push away no matter how hard he keeps trying to breathe. His brain seems to have forgotten how.

"Why did I do that? Why the _fuck _did I do that?" He pants, hands gripping his thighs tightly. "This is your fault," he tries, shooting Trent a sharp glare. He _had_ been checking his nails.

Trent straightens up immediately, "The deal was you tell him you like him, not that you tell him you've been in love with him for years then try and kiss him!"

"I didn't try, I did. I _did_ kiss him!"

"Oh. How was it?"

Eric lifts his head from staring at his socked feet to glare at Trent. His eyesight is less blurry now, more focused on killing Trent with just a look. He has no idea why he texted him. Why did he think that Trent of all people would be the best person to comfort him at a time like this. He thought a hug might help, but might also make him feel like he's going to explode.

"My life is falling apart, you _dick._"

Trent rolls his eyes and Eric has never felt worse about his decision making skills. He's an_ idiot._ "What's that on your nightstand?"

"What?"

"What's on your nightstand?" Trent repeats, slowly as though Eric's four and he wonders briefly if there's anything on there he can beat Trent to death with.

He turns his head, blinking several times to try and make his eyes focus. "Uh. A....my phone."

"Keep going."

Eric lets out a frustrated noise, "A book. Two books. Lamp. Hand cream and why does this fucking matter right now?" he snaps, but when he turns his head back to Trent his eyes don't blur and he can see him clearly.

Trent still looks uninterested, but he looks focused, eyes narrowed and his jaw set. "What can you feel? With your hands."

"What?"

"Jesus, and I'm the brat? Just answer the question. Five things what can you feel?"

"My-my trousers. My top. The bed, nothing, nothing else. Um-" Suddenly there's a hand in his his, warm and soft and almost too much as Trent wraps his hand tightly around Eric's. "What-"

"My hand." Trent says, and his other hand grabs Eric's free one to put it on top of his head. "And your stupid buzzcut."

Eric manages a brief laugh and realises his throat doesn't feel as tight, he thinks his head might be above water and he focuses on the tight squeeze of Trent's hand on his right and the rough prickle of his hair under his left.

Eric's eyes are settled now, his heart feels like it's beating weakly but at a normal rate and he focuses his eyes on Trent's. There's no mocking behind them this time, he looks even more determined, almost pleased.

"Read about it. Helps with panic attacks if you can feel and see and smell things around you. Brings you back to where you are. Ben gets 'em sometimes."

There's a forced casualness to his tone but Eric can image Trent pouring over countless articles to research something important to Ben and he suddenly thinks maybe he wasn't so stupid to text him.

"Thank you," he manages. They sit silently for a few minutes, only Eric’s forced breathing between them and Trent’s gone back to checking his nails, biting one every few seconds. 

"So you kissed him?" He asks after Eric’s breathing has gone back to normal and his hands have unclenched. 

"He left."

"Did he say anything?"

"He just left."

Trent looks annoyed now. "Yeah, but when you told him how you felt. What did he say?”

“Just looked at me. But.”

“But?” Trent prompts, dropping his hand.

“But he kissed me back.”

“Properly?

Eric lifts his head to look at him. “Properly. Like, proper kiss back, hands in my hair and shit.”

Trent’s actually glaring now and Eric wonders if he over-reacted, if Trent’s going to call him an idiot. “So you told him you loved him, he kissed you back, then just fucking left? He left you like this?”

“Well he didn’t know I was-”

“He’s a dick.”

“No he’s-”

“He’a_ dick_.” Trent repeats, anger on his face and Eric realises he’s not angry with him. He’s angry with _Dele. _Oh. “Fuck him. He’s playing with your feelings. You don’t need him.”

He stands up and starts walking to the other side of the room where Eric’s suitcase lies on the floor. He reaches in and roots around before puling out the chessboard. They’d not opened it this international break yet, hadn’t had the time and it seems like a strange throwback to do so now. 

Trent opens it on the small table in the corner of the room and starts separating the pieces. He’s letting Eric be blacks. He never lets Eric be blacks. “Sit down.”

“He’s just surprised,” Eric says, voice quiet as he stands up, walks hesitantly towards Trent. “He’s not a dick. He's scared, Trent. I think...I think he might actually like me back. Or love me back. Or something I don't know. He's just scared."

Trent doesn’t glance up at him and his leg's bouncing quickly under the table, “Okay." He says eventually, and it's his hand clenching onto his thigh tightly this time. "You start.”

“He’s not.” Eric insists, he knows Dele. Eric knows every part of Dele, knows what makes him tick, what makes him smile and what makes Eric love every part of him. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly so desperate for Trent to know Dele’s worth, but he has to. “He’s a good guy. You two aren’t close so you don’t know-”

“I don’t care,” Trent says with a shrug as he looks up at him. Eric still hasn’t sat down but he can’t until Trent agrees. Until Trent knows. He doesn’t know when he started caring about Trent’s opinion. “We’re just teammates Eric. Chess mates. You say he’s a good guy, then fine. I already basically won the bet, so I don't care any more." 

Eric's not sure why that stings a little. “Okay." He sits and wants to leave it at that, but can't help himself. "He's scared. You know what that’s like.”

That gets another glare out of Trent but he clenches his jaw and doesn’t respond, nodding towards the board. 

Eric moves his pawn forward two spaces. The air between them suddenly feels thick with tension and Eric's not sure he event wants to play chess any more. 

“Your move.” 


End file.
